


Huggable

by Finnspiration



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Mushy, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27460891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finnspiration/pseuds/Finnspiration
Summary: When Richard gets injured again, he keeps calling for James. Jeremy most certainly isn’t jealous. No, he really isn’t.Jezza POVWarning: Mentions Richard’s accident
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson & Richard Hammond & James May
Kudos: 15





	Huggable

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted here in 2012: https://topgearslash.livejournal.com/1792644.html

**Huggable**  
  
by [](https://downthepub.livejournal.com/profile)[**downthepub**](https://downthepub.livejournal.com/)  
  
  
The film crews rush over; it’s like a collective gasp. Richard is hurt—again.  
  
You can’t think of Richard being hurt without that ‘again’ anymore. He’s too fragile, now: not in reality, but in their memories. The things they don’t want to remember, the times they don’t want to acknowledge, even after he was well, when he wasn’t himself, tired too easily or got angry, and most of all, everything he didn’t remember.  
  
Jeremy runs over as well, as fast as he can. He spares no thought for cameras still rolling, for anything but Richard. “Hammond! Is he all right?”  
  
But Richard isn’t coming round right away. _Stop it. Stop it. Not again… Not another one!_ Richard nearly died with a head injury. Then James got hurt in the Middle East. Now it’s Richard again… He doesn’t think he can bear it all over again.  
  
“Richard.” Now he’s kneeling beside them. The medic is here, asking for room, checking Richard’s vitals.  
  
He’s coming round, stirring. Jeremy could shout, he’s so happy. He knows this isn’t the end all, the be-all of it. Heads are tricky; and Richard has been hurt before. But this is all right, just a spill, really: he’ll be all right. He has to be. They can’t do without their drummer.  
  
“All right, bring the stretcher,” says the medic, beckoning. “You’ll have a quick trip to hospital, just to check you out. Keep talking to him,” he instructs Jeremy.  
  
“Richard?”  
  
“Jeremy?” His hand reaches blindly; he sounds so lost.  
  
“Right here, mate.” He grasps the smaller hand in his, squeezes gently as he dares. “Right here. You all right?”  
  
“I’m all right. My head hurts.” He tries to sit up; half a dozen people push him gently back.  
  
“Stay still, Hamster.”  
  
Richard tries. He’s restless while they put him on the stretcher. Jeremy tries to keep him occupied, but the medics are there now, they need room. He hovers in the background, ineffectual.  
  
“Where’s James?” asks Richard, sounding lost.  
  
“He’ll meet you at hospital,” says Jeremy. He darts forward as quickly as he can, and gives Richard’s arm an awkward pat.  
  
“James?” asks Richard again, his voice sounding smaller than ever.  
  
“It’s me. Jezza.”  
  
“Jeremy.” He sounds relieved, reassured. His hand searches again, and again, Jeremy takes it. They’re moving him now; Jeremy has to jog to keep up. “Where’s James?” asks Richard again, in a small, breathy voice. He looks so small and hurt and wounded lying there, not like himself at all. “I want James.”  
  
“I’ll bring him,” promises Jeremy. “Sort yourself out. Listen to the doctors. We’ll meet you at hospital.”  
  
“Jeremy…” Richard’s hand is drawn gently free by the medics, and they motion Jeremy to go. There isn’t room in the ambulance, apparently, for a huge awkward man trying his best and terrified of this whole situation—again.  
  
Richard is loaded into the ambulance while Jeremy watches helplessly. It was just a little fall. He’ll be all right. But he shouldn’t sound so lost.  
  
“James.” Jeremy looks around, half blinded through the tears in his eyes, searching for James. It takes him awhile to remember James isn’t working today, is still at home.  
  
He finally reaches for his phone. “James.” He struggles to keep his voice steady. Waits. “Answer the bloody phone, James! Come on…” He drills a pattern in the pavement with impatient shoes. “Stupid, plodding…”  
  
“Hello? James May speak—”  
  
“James! It’s Richard—he’s had a spill. Asking for you. I promised you’d meet him at the hospital.”  
  
“No.” James sounds shell-shocked as Jeremy. “How badly? Jeremy? Which hospital? Is he all right?”  
  
“I don’t know. He didn’t fall far, but he sounds out of it. Lost. He was asking for you. I promised I’d bring you. He seemed to understand when I talked to him. Right, I’m going.”  
  
“Don’t have an accident. Drive safely.”  
  
“I will.” He rang off, breathing through his mouth, looking around blindly for something to do, somewhere to go.  
  
A car. He’ll need a car. Then there is one of the crew offering to drive him, and he says yes.  
  
#  
  
Jeremy spots James first. James walks into the waiting room with long, awkward, hurried strides, looking around. He looks so lost. He’s wearing blue jeans that are baggy at the knees, sneakers, and his neon red striped jumper, the one Jeremy teased him about at Christmas several years ago.  
  
“James.” He stands up to greet James, hip and leg twinging, feeling his years more than ever.  
  
James turns (he’d been looking exactly the wrong direction, so very Captain Lost), and walks over to him. “How is he?” His eyes are scared, and his fluffy, greying spaniel hair is gone all astray, as if he’d been raking anxious hands through dishevelling it.  
  
Jeremy grips his arm, hard, and the mark of James’ worry is when he doesn’t even push Jeremy off. “We’re waiting. Progress looks good, but we can’t see him till they let us. Sit down.” He pulls Captain Awkward shuffling over to the seats, and they sit, next to each other. James crosses a leg over his knee; his foot jiggles, shakes in the air with each bounce and jitter.  
  
Jeremy reaches over, lays a hand on James’ knee. James gives him a quick, startled look and pushes him off. He tries to stop jittering, but his efforts don’t last long. Jeremy tries to distract him by talking, quietly as he can.  
  
People in the waiting area are staring at those men off the television. James wants to hear what happened. He keeps asking, keeping his voice lower than Jeremy can manage. He wants to hear it, again and again.  
  
“I should have been there,” he says again. “I should have been there.”  
  
“You couldn’t have prevented it.” Jeremy wishes he could’ve; and knowing he didn’t really have any say in the matter doesn’t absolve his incredible guilt.  
  
“Mr Clarkson? Mr May? You can follow me. He can see you now. He’s been asking for you.”  
  
They get up and follow the neatly white-coated, competent looking female doctor, who just looks so young, like she should be at home doing maths homework.  
  
_Which one of us was he asking for_ , he wants to ask, and is ashamed of himself that he can think of such a thing right now. But it was hard to hear how much Richard wanted James, even though he seemed relieved by Jeremy’s presence.  
  
They go into the room and there he is, sitting up at the sight of them, a smile stretching across his pained face.  
  
“Hammond,” says Jeremy, relieved at the sight.  
  
James is ahead of him now, his strides long and urgent. Richard is getting up, dressed in one of those horrible hospital gowns already. He holds his arms out to James, and James envelopes him, a needy, desperate, longing sort of hug, full bodied and holding onto each other.  
  
Jeremy’s mouth maybe drops open a little bit. James doesn’t like touching or being touched. He doesn’t like hugs. He is standing in a hospital room holding, almost rocking Richard Hammond. And the Hamster is clinging back to him as desperately as if James has the whole supply of oxygen in the world.  
  
There’s a funny little feeling in the pit of Jeremy’s stomach. _You mean all my jokes about these two weren’t jokes?_ Or is it something else, they are all three still just friends, but somehow, Richard and James got closer to each other than either of them ever wanted to be to him? He doesn’t like thinking about either possibility, so he moves forward.  
  
“Hey, save a little for me,” he jokes, and the two separate, reluctantly, James clearing his throat and bobbing his head a little, reaching up to swipe at his upper lip. Jeremy envelopes Richard carefully, hugging gingerly. Richard doesn’t hold back, hugs him just as hard, just as exuberantly, just as needily (if that’s a word) as he hugged James. And Jeremy can be content with that, he supposes.  
  
Even if James was the one he looked to, the one he needed. Jeremy isn’t going to think about that, and if he does, he’s not going to be upset. All that matters now is that they can hold him long enough and close enough to keep him here, with them, safe and free of injury, where he belongs.  
  
If the little fatty Brummie needs James more right now, Jeremy can live with that.  
  
#  
  
They are in the waiting room again, because neither can bear to go home but the staff aren’t letting them see Richard any more at the moment. He needs rest; he shouldn’t be talking. He needs quiet.  
  
“Is there something you should tell me about you and the Hamster?” asks Jeremy.  
  
James, who is jiggling in place again with nervous energy, turns to look at him, brushing a piece of hair away from his face awkwardly. “What? No.”  
  
_But he only wanted you,_ thought Jeremy. _He only wanted you._  
  
“Mr May?” asked a nurse. “I’m sorry, but he’s asking for you. He seems distressed. Could you follow me?”  
  
“Of course.” James rises. He looked back to Jeremy once, awkwardly opens his mouth then closes it and goes.  
  
_He only wants you. Why?_  
  
James doesn’t come out for a long time, so finally, Jeremy leaves. He tells himself he’s being sensible, not pouting.  
  
#  
  
“Jeremy?” James’ voice sounds especially hesitant later, over the phone. It’s quite late; James is keeping his voice low as if there is some reason not to talk loudly. Is he still with the Hamster, even now?  
  
“May. How are things? Hamster doing any better?” He turns sausages, tries to be casual. Cooking for himself usually doesn’t go well, but he’s hungry and the cook is in bed, so damn it, he’s cooking something. How hard can it be?  
  
“He’s sleeping, finally. I’m sorry he didn’t ask to see you tonight. I know he will very soon. Richard is... Richard... I’m sorry, Jeremy. He... he needs me sometimes.”  
  
“You two homosexualizing each other?” asks Jeremy, trying to keep his voice calm and not to drop the phone in the sausage fat. He does drop the fork, narrowly avoiding spearing his own toes. He curses under his breath.  
  
“No.” James sounds more awkward than ever, but that’s his flat-out, truthful no: there will be no budging him once he’s said it.  
  
Jeremy chooses to believe him, because thinking that James would lie to him directly hurts more than anything else they could be doing without him. “Then what?”  
  
“He, ah, sometimes he needs a bit of comfort.”  
  
“Cries on your shoulder like a girl, does he?” asks Jeremy without sympathy.  
  
“Not exactly. It started after his... his return, after... his crash. He wasn’t quite up to snuff. Sometimes... after a hard day... he needed reassured a little. I would smoke with him, put an arm around him. It helped. Sometimes, he needed a hug.”  
  
“And you gave it to him?” asked Jeremy, disbelief in his voice. “You, Mr Don’t Touch?”  
  
“Well. Of course I did. Richard’s my mate. You and I both... either one of us... would have done anything to help him get better. And he wasn’t quite as better as we all thought, that’s all.”  
  
“But he didn’t ask me. He asked you.”  
  
“No. There was no asking. It just sort of happened. I believe he felt embarrassed. Didn’t want to show his weakness. He practically punched me the first time I saw him smoking out back, almost in tears because he kept forgetting his lines.”  
  
Jeremy’s mouth was tight. He thought he and Richard were good friends, quite close—but he can see now how Richard would get. ‘Don’t let Jeremy know. I don’t want him to laugh.’ Oh yes. Such good friends that he thought Jeremy would mock him mercilessly no matter what. _Where’s the trust there, Rich?_  
  
Well. He might mock a bit, but if it was serious, of course he’d be there: for either of them. They had to know that, didn’t they?  
  
“It just happened,” says James, sounding awkwardly apologetic. “He trusts you. I know he does. He just doesn’t want to look weak.”  
  
“I don’t care,” says Jeremy, and in that moment he doesn’t. “Brummie snot on my shoulder? No thanks. You can keep the job, I don’t want it.” He picks up the dirty fork and stabs a sausage viciously; it moans and squeals.  
  
“I’m really sorry,” says James, and sighs, and rings off. Jeremy snaps his phone shut and stabs another sausage.  
  
#  
  
He goes to hospital next day, but it’s no good, really. Richard is too tired to talk for long. His eyes are so tired; he falls asleep while Jeremy is talking.  
  
The doctors say he will be fine. Almost certainly. But because of his history and some of his reactions, he needs to stay here for at least a week.  
  
If only he didn’t look like a scared little kid in a bed too big for him, maybe Jeremy could stay angry with him. As it is, he can’t.  
  
He buys a funny get well card, writes amusing insults inside, and orders him a great big bouquet of shockingly loud red roses. He thinks it will make Richard laugh; he writes a silly message, welcoming Richard from the closet and asking when he’ll marry May. He thinks it’s funny, not crossing the line at all.  
  
#  
  
“Jezza.” Richard is sitting up in bed today, looking more clear-headed and like himself, though a bit thin. How could he lose weight this quickly? His scrawny legs are bare beneath the gown. Any other time, Jeremy would tease him about chicken legs, but not today: not when he’s looking so vulnerable and his eyes are open so wide. He looks like he has to tell Jeremy something but he’s dreading it, like a kid confessing to breaking the china, so nervous you just want to hold him close and tell him it doesn’t bloody matter.  
  
“What, Rich?” He sits awkwardly on the chair beside the bed; it creaks. He doesn’t have to ask to know that James has sat here most of the nights, till Richard could fall asleep. Apparently he has trouble in hospitals.  
  
“I’ve called you here today...” says Richard, trying to use his radio announcer voice, giving the ghost of a smile.  
  
“To reveal the identity of the murderer. I know, I know.”  
  
They share a smile, and then it’s easier. He feels himself relaxing, knows it will be okay.  
  
“Jez, I’m sorry I asked for James and not you. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was so glad you were here, but I just couldn’t... think.”  
  
“James said you let him hug you sometimes. After your ‘triumphant return’ to Top Gear, when you weren’t quite up to snuff.”  
  
He sees relief in Richard’s eyes, that he doesn’t have to try to explain the whole thing. He nods. “Yes.”  
  
“You could’ve asked for time off.”  
  
“I didn’t want time off. Inconveniencing you, the whole crew, the BBC? I wanted to work, damn it. I wanted to be whole.”  
  
“But you weren’t.” It’s the first time, as far as he knows, that any of them have said it out loud: broken Richard, playing at being his old self, but torn now by insecurities and vulnerabilities that continually startle them: he looks the same, and most of the time, he acts the same. Most of the time.  
  
“Jez, I don’t think I’ll ever be completely the same, but I’m good enough, aren’t I?”  
  
He’s almost begging, and Jeremy can never stand to see Richard beg.  
  
“You’re bloody brilliant,” he says. Richard’s smile lights up the room, his eyes looking suspiciously bright. “For a tosser,” adds Jeremy, and Richard gives him a shaky laugh.  
  
He remembers the first time he saw Richard Hammond: all eyes and mouth, so excited and nervous and happy to be auditioning for Top Gear. Eager to please, looking like he was living out his childhood dream. Which of course, it turned out, he was.  
  
Jeremy went through every audition, going over jokes, running through the playback, thinking and talking with Andy about each man. But he wanted Richard; those eyes stayed with him. Richard was feisty, eager to please, clever and quick witted, and most of all he loved cars intensely. You couldn’t fake that, no matter your book knowledge; Richard had been, and still was, the real deal. His energy helped make the show what it was, and he was an excellent foil who didn’t mind if he had to be the brunt of the joke occasionally.  
  
There had always been a special vibe between them, and Jeremy loved it. He liked having a friend/rival/co-host he could work and play with as well and easily as Richard; he liked the way they could insult each other but know the other never meant it. He just liked Richard, every year more than when he’d held out for him against all comers for Top Gear.  
  
Sometimes Richard made him feel old, and James, oddly enough, made him feel quite young, but he never resented either fact.  
  
Now, suddenly tired of pretending, he moved forward and sat on the bed beside Richard. It creaked alarmingly. He put an arm round Richard, who looked surprised but didn’t flinch away. “If this was what you needed, why didn’t you say?”  
  
“Oh,” said Richard. He leans against Jeremy without hesitation, as if soaking in the safety of his shoulder. “How could I, Jeremy? You were counting on me. Everyone was. James just... found out by accident, and then he was there when I needed him. That’s all. You—you have to know.” He pulls back and looks at Jezza with damp eyes. “You know I love you. I know I’m not supposed to say it ‘cause it’s awkward but... it just means the world to me, Top Gear and you and everything. I could have any crap job, I could be homeless and worthless and nobody, but you gave me this. You gave me everything I ever wanted with Top Gear. I’d follow you anywhere—you know that. That’s why I couldn’t ask you to stop or slow down or anything. I couldn’t wreck the show! Besides, I kept th-thinking I was well now. Now I was well. And then again, now. But it’s never really...quite...over.” He reaches up and swipes at his nose, sniffs.  
  
“Daft git,” says Jeremy, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “It doesn’t matter. Come here.” He pulls Richard into a close, affectionate hug. Even so he can’t wipe out the mental image of Richard clinging to James as though his life depended on it. But this is okay. This is good.  
  
There’s a knock at the door. “Hello,” says James. “May I come in, Rich?” And then he is in, and he says, “Oh,” and a smile lights his fussy old face, and Jeremy could just about kiss him for looking happy instead of jealous. Richard is still halfway in Jeremy’s arms, and he’s smiling at James round Jeremy’s left arm, smiling and smiling as if he’ll never stop.  
  
“I’m glad you’ve worked things out,” says James. “I’ve brought you jelly beans, if you’d like.” He holds out a tin, already opened. He’s looking awkward and shy and damn it, rather sweet. “If you’d like.”  
  
“Thank you, James.” Richard takes two solemnly and pops them into his mouth. His favourite. Jeremy should have thought of that. But no, he’s not going to be jealous. He’s not.  
  
He releases Richard and gets up, with a slightly predatory smile.  
  
“Do you want one?” James steps back, his blue eyes nervous. He snaps his tin shut.  
  
Jeremy shakes his head. “Gummy sugar to ruin what’s left of my teeth? No thank you.” He advances.  
  
“Oh dear.”  
  
Jeremy envelopes him in a hug. James sighs, surrendering, and returns it.  
  
“We’re both going to be hugging you, all the damned time now, so you’d better get used to it.”  
  
James sighs. Richard laughs, and then the bed creaks, there’s a patter of Hamster feet, and he flings himself against them both, his arms as wide as they’ll go. Holding on for dear life, to both of them.  
  
They open their arms, let him in the middle: sandwich hug, and dear little Richard, tough, dangerous, sweet and humble and proud and greedy and silly and handsome, looks up at them both, his face shining with a big, tooth-whitened smile, standing there with bare legs and feet, and just loving them both so much.  
  
Jeremy can hardly stand how much he loves these blokes. Maybe that’s why they can never talk about it, why they can normally only insult each other. He releases them finally, scuffs Richard’s hair and steers him back to bed. James brings out other things from his shopping bag (a pair of slippers, an unpleasantly bright cardigan), and offers them awkwardly to the patient. Richard shows James the roses, and James rolls his eyes. “Roses, Jeremy? How understated of you.”  
  
“Thank you.” Jeremy nods as if he’s quite proud of himself for his restraint. And really, he is: because right now he wants to wrap them both up in his arms, lift them up, and run down the hall carrying them, shouting ecstatically, “These are mine! These are my mates!”  
  
And one just doesn’t do that. So instead he steals James’ jelly beans, and tries to force-feed Richard some rose petals. But they know what he means.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Epilogue**  
  
  
  
_Richard flings his arms wide and walks over to James, grinning. James allows himself to be hugged and returns it decorously.  
  
“What’s this, what’s this?” crows Jeremy, grinning. He strides over and wraps his arms round both of them.  
  
“Jezza,” complains James. He spits some of his hair out of his face and draws away from the two of them, ruffled and slightly more crumpled than normal. “When Richard acts like an oversized puppy, it’s bearable. You’ll crush my lungs.”  
  
“Oh, thanks!” says Richard, loudly.  
  
Jeremy reaches over before Richard can scuffle and duck away and scrubs his hair. “He is, isn’t he? Just a big puppy!”  
  
“My hair!” snaps Richard, and the other two burst out laughing._

**Author's Note:**

> I am now on Tumblr, https://downthepub.tumblr.com/, though I no longer write Top Gear fic
> 
> thanks for reading my old stories :)


End file.
